


Snippets and Other Short Tales: A Place for Misc Writing

by Chinapiggy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, Lemons, One Shot, Other, Romance, Short, Snippets, bits and pieces, word dump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinapiggy/pseuds/Chinapiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It does what it says on the tin, folks. This is a place where I can dump my ideas and unformed pieces of work that I have no idea what to do with! <br/>Expect Mature and Explicit content, horror, etc. Expect triggering content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Price That Must Be Paid

He flicked out a black tipped claw and drew a short line under his breast; thickened black blood welled into the pale slash and dribbled onto the startling white skin of his torso.  
"All things have a price, precious. Even this." He smiled sadly at the girl that rocked below him, her rhythmic sobs coughing out of her in perfect time to his shuddering heartbeat.  
"Come, precious. Drink of my breast and take your prize". He dropped to his knees in one sharp movement, as if all his muscles had stopped working at once, and the crack of his scaled limbs hitting the floor made her flinch back. He opened his arms wide, and the stench of death swept out from him. It seemed to have a sound, the sound of the last breath issued from a dying man, the death rattle of the lost and damned. Her sobs stopped abruptly and she drew herself up and crawled towards him, shaking with revulsion, stopping to heave and retch in the sandy soil every few metres.

  
He closed his eyes and felt her approach, the slow promise of an inescapable fate drawing nearer, the coiling of a snake ready to strike.  
"Ah, precious. How this thrills me," he sighed, feeling his cock harden and his skin shiver into a myriad of prickling goosebumps, "I have felt more in these moments than in many lifetimes." He cupped the slit in his chest and pushed at the broken skin, massaging a steady stream of his tar like ichor down over his nipple. A single drop fell to the floor, and the woman in front of him gagged and beat her fists on the ground.

  
"Come, come. Time is of the essence, and you must do what you came here to do, my lamb." He watched her draw great shivering breaths, and drag her eyes up to meet his. Her rich loam brown eyes flinched away from the enveloping shadows of his gaze; and fell to his oozing chest.  
"Sup, my lost lamb, and let me in you. You have earned this, precious, now - come!" His voice scratched at her like the skittering of many roaches across a tomb, but the command was clear. He was running out of patience, and she took one last breath, and reached out.

 

Putting her hands on him made every hair stand up on her body, and she couldn't fight the wrenching shudder that rocked through her, but she did not pull away. His skin was thickened and leathery, a sick white that made her think of maggots feasting, the white of the eye rolling back in pain, the yellowed white of bones picked clean. She ran her hands up to his collarbone, and hooked onto the sharp outcropping of bone to pull herself up to his breast. She avoided the terrible shadow of his eyes, and focused on the gash she must drink from.

  
A wave of nausea overtook her and threatened to make her vomit once again, but she swallowed fiercely and ground her teeth until it passed. Her shallow snatches of breath seemed to bounce off his deaden chest, and she leaned close enough to taste that foul ichor that sluggishly trailed over his chest. A miasma of foulness clouded her nostrils, the scent of the grave, of things left graying and slimed under rocks, the acrid tang of a fever sweat and many worse things. She grimaced, and closed her eyes tight, and brought her lips to the slash.


	2. What It Tasted Like...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has to swallow.

As her lips locked over the gash and she began to suck, orgiastic shudders wracked the terrible body of the man and his claws wrapped into the soft flesh of her arms, puncturing the skin and kneading, like some fel beast clamouring to suckle. Her blood stained the tips of his spindle fingers and some of the rotted blackness that coated them and the claws of his hands began to draw back, as if her lapping was drawing out poison. Perhaps it was more that the heady spice of her mortal blood was cleansing to a denizen such as him, for the wound in his chest flowed no faster, and the colour of his blood did not change.   
He groaned and panted, stuttering his hips against her body as his blackened cock slid forth and pressed wetly against her belly, and all things that lived were quiet then, no bird nor beast drew breath as his cock pulsated with repulsive need and covered her skin with thick ropes of pus-like cum as her mouth and her blood and her fragile heartbeat drew him into compulsive orgasm.

She trembled as the first taste of his blood entered her mouth, skin crawling with revulsion as she forced her mouth to swallow. It was thick and viscous, hard to swallow as it seemed to stick together in her throat. The flavour was first of blood, but it grew and grew into odious proportions in her mouth until the stink of it was throbbing through her; rotten and sickly sweet, copper and steel, coal and bitterness that burned like acid down her oesophagus and sat like hot stones in her stomach.   
She felt him shuddering on her, felt the pin prick pain in her arms, but she could not stop, would not stop, because this was the prize and the punishment in one, and as she felt the hot strands of his orgasm hit her she screamed around the wound and cried desperately as her body betrayed her; cumming hard and painfully her belly cramped and her nipples pebbled as she drew away in her mind, made herself small and formless, retreating to a dark corner before insanity took her over. She watched her body cling to his like a leech, throat working, skin convulsing and prayed to the Gods she had forsaken for it to be over.


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this is really growing into a story... huh. Whodathunk?

Feeling her lips sweeping over his wound, questing for the last of his suppurations, he shuddered in completion, pushing her roughly away whence she had drained the last droplets he had to offer. She fell like something broken, a stringless puppet; collapsing to the floor at his knees. Her breath came in deep and hoarse gasps, an alien duality woven through, like a hiss of gas escaping a drowned body, and heavy wretched convulsions racked her small frame.  
He pushed the lips of the slash closed with two shimmering claws, and the edges wove together, leaving only the glisten of her saliva wetly shining in the waxy moonlight.  
"Ah, my lamb. How you satisfy me." he purred, sweeping her into his arms and laying her gently onto the roughly hewn stone altar that took up the body of the space in the sandy cave. She only moaned in response, muscles jerking as that foul potion swept through her body, wreaking its terrible price. Ominous slashes and runic designs lit with the darklight of ruinous portent glowed sickly around her writhing form, and he chuckled as he secured the manacles to her wrists and ankles. The sound was like bones clicking in the desert, and in her delirium she cringed away from that sound, even as the chains enveloping her torso were brought into place.  
"Sweet one, it's done," he whispered, and bent to press his grey lips to her sweating forehead, "and slumber will find you... eventually."

The distant sound of the mob grew closer, the clamour of righteous violence ringing with the clang of metal upon metal. He swept to the fore of the cave, watching the baying horde cry for his end, and sighed.  
"Filth. Now, my lamb, my precious one, sleep. I await your clarion cry from whencever it may come. They shall not find you."  
He turned his back on the woman, now wrenching the chains and frothing with pain as she hacked gross blackened bubbles from the rictus gape of her mouth, and lay his arms on the rock mouth. He groaned, and his skittering claws sunk wrist deep into the rock, which seemed to bubble away from him, as if even the inanimate clay of the very earth rejected his form, and _pulled_  . The ground heaved beneath him, the sand turning black and charred beneath his feet, and the mouth of the cave with his buried hands came down in a molten curtain, sealing away in glowing relief his fate and his saviour.

The rock glowed a dusk red, and he withdrew his hands, watching until it settled back to its normal dun hues, and turned to confront the armies that drew near the base of the dune. He laughed, a deep and harrowing sound, and let what little power he had left seep out of him, arms thrown wide, as a grey fog of sure death flowed from his person and down the hill to the multitudes below. Where it touched it brought only death, the scrubby grass wilting and turning a broken and dried black.The nearby trees withered and dropped their autumn leaves, never to bear life again. All it touched, it took, and when it reached the first of the virtuous masses intent on his destruction it reaved life from their gibbering figures like the swiftest plague. Flesh bubbled on bones, blood boiled as chunks of rotting meat fell from their frames even as they screamed and clutched at themselves. Their teeth blackened in their mouths, and their bowels voided unto eternity, a stinking, shitting death as their forms fell into a slough of putrescence.  
But still they came, and he was drained, his essence gone, and they marched through the bogs of their human comrades to his doom.  
His arms fell back, and he took deep gasping breaths as a great commander of men drew forth, helm shining and breast gleaming with the bronze light of the morally right.  
"Thus we stand, Commander," he spake, and spread his hands in a plea of defeat. "I have no more to bless you with. Won't you let me walk from this place in peace?"  
The commander shook with restrained rage, and crowed aloud for all the surrounding troops to hear, their chants of execution muted to a dull roar - "Thus we stand, Fiend. For all the destruction visited upon us by thy evil we do condemn you to death, a lasting death, such as all of humanity can visit upon you."  
The fiend shrugged, as if he was expecting no less, and smirked at the rabid crowds.

  
"So shall it be". He reached for the pitted and wickedly sharp knife at his side, and lunged forward, claws lengthening into daggers as he sliced at the Legion's throat, but he was spent, and the veracious broadsword of the great commander of men swept through the air and cleanly removed those grasping claws from the arm of that hellish beast. It gave a high, keening cry, and fell back, black blood oozing slowly from the stump of it's arm, and blessed by the truth of the Lord God, the legion fell upon it and smote it from all existence.

  
Its body was carved into four, quartered, and burnt under holy fires, the ashes thrice interred and locked at either ends of the known globe, and the head was impaled upon a blessed pike, where priests chanted over its lolling tongue and gaping eyes for fifty days and fifty nights, before it too was consigned to the flames.  
The heart and organs of the devil were staked, and kept deep in the tomb of the most holy saint in all of the Bright Land. Some claimed that they, too, should be burnt, but the most holy of all the clerics believed that if not all its body was ash, then should ash ever reform, it would be missing its heart, and thus could not reanimate.  
Whatever arguments the holy men had, so the beast was destroyed, and as the ages past, the shrivelled remains of that noxious heart dried and withered, covered with dust and the grime of the ages until it was little more than a dusty lump, one that the priests blessed as they completed their rounds of the Church, but knew not what it was they mumbled over.

In the cave, still she slept...

 


	4. INTERLUDE: A short bit of fluff inspired by friends.

Just before she pushed open the door, she turned back to her love and took a deep breath.   
The warm weight of his hand squeezed her shoulder and he smiled down at her, rubbing small circles with his thumb reassuringly.  
"We can leave any time you want," he said, "we don't have to even go in now, if you don't want to, okay?"   
"No," she replied, "I want this. Don't you?" He grinned at her and she saw the lust rising in his eyes, and his hand fell down to squeeze the curve of her ass.   
"Hell yes. Let's do this!"   
She took his other hand, and together they pushed open the door, and entered. 

The air was thick, a curtain all of its own, full of the scent of sex and tension. A brazier hung from the corner of the scalloped ceiling and sweet wafts of jasmine and honey lingered in perfumed clouds among the feasting place.   
For a feast was what it was, there was no doubt about it. It looked like a tent had sprung from the walls. Thick fabrics were draped from a central chandelier, which was dim and softly shadowed the surrounding space. Almost regal, but the colours were too sumptuous, deep purples and crimsons, hints of gold and sanguine black red richly embroidered. Around the room were loveseats and couches, each piled high with cushions, and low lacquered tables heavy with wine and sweetmeats. The wall hangings drew back to surround the bed, and it was there that their host awaited them. Filmy gauze hung from each post of the bed, drawn back in welcome. A woman sat on her knees in the center of the bed, and lifted her gaze to them. 

She was beautiful, her skin the colour of bronze, straight black hair falling in a shining wave down her back. She was wearing a delicate golden collar, from which hung chains that looped around her waist and between her breasts. Each nipple was gilded, shimmering in the half light, and a trail of gold highlights swept across her collarbone and lids. She was naked apart from her chains, and the thatch of dark hair between her legs was also powdered gold. She raised her arm to the couple standing somewhat nervously by the door, bangles chiming, and spoke.

"Welcome, friends. Welcome to the feast. Please, come in, be seated, be comfortable."   
It was like listening to smoke made sound, a thick and deep voice that pulled at the senses and whispered in accented tones of sex and danger. Her eyes were grey also, lined in kohl, deep and knowing. She appeared younger than her years, but fine lines along the edges of her eyes and hinted around the mouth gave her words the weight of wisdom.

\---- and then great sex was had by all. By which I mean the muse left me and I haven't come back to this yet but you might like to peruse at your leisure :D


	5. Something new...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another snippet.

   
She had no intention of choosing sides until she was sure who was going to win. Crouched low behind a highly convienient boulder, she watched the two forces meet and clash whilst trying desperately to stop the bleeding. She pushed her hand deep into the gash on her side, hissing through clenched teeth to stop herself screaming, and chanced another peek over the rock.   
The sounds of flesh hitting flesh slapped at her, though trying to make out anything other than two blurs was impossible. Nebulous tendrils of a dark, pulsing light wrapped one of the forms, and the other was a dust storm, light flashing from metallic teeth and claws.   
She pushed again at the wound, scrabbling in her pack for her remaining leechroot and cursed under her breath as she chewed the shiveringly bitter mass of stringy threads. Whose clever idea was it to travel alone? Hers. And now, she'd fallen fifteen feet onto obsidian shards and woken up... something, all whilst trying to flee from another... something. What a joyous day.

  
She swiped the pulped mass of plant from her mouth and shoved it into the gash below her ribs, which was still weeping blood, and pinched the edges shut. She coughed out another half moan at the bright lance of pain that stabbed her, and clenched her teeth. A piteous yowling had filled the clearing, and there was a sharp accompaniment of snapping and crunching. It seemed a side had been chosen for her. She lifted her head over the rock, and winced away from the sight. A hulking beast, seemingly made out of oil and tar, still streaming those black shadow tendrils, was hunched over the piteously struggling form of the animal that has chased her from the plains above and over that bedamned cliff. That it was a magical animal, she was certain, as little eddies and gusts of dust still weakly harried the sides of the tar-beast, though to no avail. It looked a little like a bear, if bears were made out of dirt, and bled brown rivulets of water. The tar-beast had closed its giant maw over the throat of the dust bear, and was slowly crunching through the thick neck of the creature. The dust bear's metallic claws flexed weakly at the stone beneath it, and with a final grunt, the tar-beast jerked the life out of it.

  
Eris shuddered. She hoped only that it would be busy consuming its kill so she could crawl away, now that the leechroot had done its work and stopped the flow of her wound. She hoped the dust bear's blood and the meal set before the tar-beast would smother the smell of it, though her own nostrils were full of the smell of hot metal and rust, gorge rising in her throat as she tried to find an escape route that didn't involve taking on some monster from her nightmares riled into a bloodlust frenzy.   
She wriggled her weight forward, trying to stifle little gasps of pain as the stomach ground against itself, and put her eyes on the tree line fifteen feet ahead of her. The brown and grey of the straggly trunks and snarled bushes became synonymous with safety, and each painful foot took her closer to it. She breathed in the silence and tried to exhale it too, a mantra of _keep quiet, get to the trees, keep quiet, get to the trees_ running through her head.

  
She was maybe three feet away when a creeping thought unwound from her last silent breath and slithered to the forefront of her brain. Quiet. Silent. Surely she should be hearing the sounds of the tar-beast with its meal? Surely the rending sound of snapping bones and the wet rip of flesh should be ringing in her ears? She froze, silent. Silent, it was all too silent. Swallowing convulsively, she turned into the wall of quiet and forced her eyes back to the shard-pit, praying that the beast had either gone or was sleeping, or something. Something! Something not including the utter skin crawling realisation that the tar-beast, or whatever it was, was crouched over the body of the dust bear, one pendulous and somehow flexible limb reaching out, with its multifaceted crystal eyes fixed (a _nd oh how can eyes that have no pupil or eye bits at all be fixed but they are, they **are**_ ) on her own.

  
A shuddering breath left Eris' body, and her brain flooded with fear and stuttered to a halt. She felt every hair on her arms raise and stand on end, goosebumps all over her body. Of course, she heard part of her mind exclaim dimly, of course, now you're about to get away you freeze and panic. Not when you're bleeding right next to the horror, not all through this shuffling escape to tentative safety, but now, when the very thing that could save your life, moving slowly and quietly back to the treeline, becomes impossible because the fear has finally overtaken you. Life was a bitch, all right. She didn't dare move, wishing herself into the ground, wishing for another dust bear to rampage right over the cliffside and onto the tar beast's cocked head, wished for a bolt of divine lightning to shoot from the heavens and strike it dead, but we all know wishes are not often granted, and she was left still staring into those deadeye orbs, with nothing but the sound of her heart thumping and sobbing breaths pushing out of her mouth.

  
The light from the setting sun made each facet of the creature's eyes glimmer and shine in turn, and it felt like it was sizing her up, measuring her, cataloguing her. _Please_ , she prayed, _please, I'm not edible, I'm not food, you don't see me or smell me oh **please**_. Wrenching control of herself, she felt another gusting breath come out of her and she lifted one arm back, slowly, so slowly, to push herself another foot towards the trees and oh how they felt like a warm bed, like a mother's arms outstretched to welcome you home, but as her hand started that movement towards safety, she saw in tight despair the creature's head cock, and a low but very distinct growling fill the autumn air. 


End file.
